


Can You Hear Me Now?

by Frostsabers (Allurascastle)



Series: AC's Dungeons and Dragons Collection [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: F/M, Homebrew Campaign, Lots of Implied Backstory, Present Tense, game mechanics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-21 00:59:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15546096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allurascastle/pseuds/Frostsabers
Summary: Two years after she leaves, Tristitia returns, although it's a bit more of an accident. Thankfully, she staysnow,even if that's also a bit of an accident; but years of bitterness at being abandoned don't disappear with a few pretty words and days of observation sayingyes, she's changed. It's different this time, even if she's scared it won't be.They're a start though.





	1. Chapter 1

Reginald's arm and stomach hurt like hell the first day after he was  _"accidentally"_ attacked by the hunting hounds. He doesn't complain, because he would shove his arm down a dog's throat again to keep it from hurting his daughter in a heartbeat.

Not that anyone would care to listen to his grievances if he aired them.

Dark Harbor hates him, in equal measure because of his father's cowardice- and everyone has a fair reason to hate the man, but unlike what his brother is always going on about, not because he  _"disgraced the family."_ To the hells with _honor,_ it's because their father's actions resulted in the deaths of so many he should be hated, and he and William aren't guilty of that. That hasn't stopped anyone from shunning them, their entire family- and because of his petty criminal actions of the past.

Yes, he knows he  _"dragged down"_ the family name further. Reginald doesn't particularly care anymore, if he ever did in the first place. 

It's so incredibly unimportant to him.

Everest needs him, and she's needed him for the last two years more than ever- she's already five, and she's motherless; it is hardly any fault of hers, but truth be told,  _he's_ not even sure why she left or where she went.

Tristitia- he refuses to call her by her  _real_ name- could be dead for all he knows.

(There's a part of him that whispers,  _"and for all I care."_ but he knows that's not true. He's just hurt and bitter.)

His daughter, five now, walks behind him nimbly avoiding roots and twigs.

They're hunting, because they need food and they're not welcome in town. Apparently, they haven't been ever since he decided to move them to the outskirts, but of course the guard failed to inform him of that before, well, yesterday.

In a twisted sense of irony, he moved them to the forest out of fear that the resentful and, frankly, bigoted townsfolk would try to burn down whichever place they chose to stay that night. Evry might survive such an event with only moderate burns, thanks to her infernal heritage- in equal measures a blessing and a curse, but only because her mother isn't here- but he, more than likely, would not.

Reginald normally does not allow Tristitia to occupy his thoughts so persistently, but due to recent events he can't really stop himself.

He hates to admit it, but yesterday would have been nothing for her to deal with. She is- or was- a wonderful sorceress, so she already never wore armor- she had magic,  _mage armor,_ to overcome that obstacle- but he was at a disadvantage without it.

He needed equipment to be at his most dangerous, and without it he was far too vulnerable. Yesterday, it had been too close a fight without them. The only tools she needed were her spell focus or component's bag, such small and little things that she was never without because of how easy it was to keep them- and even if they were lost to her, she could still cast. Her repertoire would be slightly hindered and her magic more unstable, but her cantrips came so easily to her. Tristitia could have protected their daughter with a single spell and replenished the spell slot easily. Even if one of the hounds had gotten her on the ground as the two had gotten him, she had plenty of options that didn't resort to using her bare hands, spells like hellish rebuke that she could cast intrinsically and shocking grasp that was she could use as easy as breathing. 

(She had told him once, she'd learned that spell specifically in the event she was ever grappled or pinned down, she wouldn't be helpless.)

The guards who orchestrated it would have died the same night, if not the same afternoon.

Tristitia wouldn't need friends in low places to ensure that. The highest level spell she could cast, last he knew, may have been a second level spell, but she was smart and she was cunning; she knew better than to use all her spells on small targets, and her cantrips were infinite.

It frustrated Reginald. She  _should_ have been there, if not for him, then for their daughter.

The forest around them is as gloomy as it ever is, a stark contrast to the sunny skies surrounding the harbor. It's as though the sky immediately above them is clouded over, but Reginald knows it's the nature of the forest itself. If they walk out from under the trees' canopies, the sky outside will be as blue and bright as it ever was.

Right now, it feels fitting to his mood.

The deer tracks he's leading them after grow fresher. He doesn't quite smile, but he's relieved at the thought of getting home soon.

As easy as it is to blame Tristitia, the fault for the scare of yesterday lies with him. He is the damnable fool who grew complacent and reckless. Tristitia was simply not there. She didn't forget to bring a weapon or tool despite knowing the locale's feelings, _he_ did. He won't make that mistake again.

He stops walking, and gestures with his right hand for Evry to do so as well.

The deer hasn't noticed them yet, and he has the perfect opportunity to line up his shot.

"Evry," he whispers back to her. She looks at him with big, off-black purple eyes expectantly. "Hide for the moment."

"Okay," she says. Obediently, she disappears into the nearby brush.

This is routine for them by now, after years of necessity.

His left arm hurts even worse as he straightens it out to take aim, but he ignores it in favor of zeroing his focus onto to grazing animal. It moves in a slow gait as it travels from one tree to the next, plucking off the lowest and easiet leaves it can reach. Only once he's certain his arrow will bury itself deep into his mark, does he release it.

And that is that. He beckons Evry out and heads out to collect his kill, so they can go home finally.

Moving the deer is a bit of a pain, but as he manages as he always does.

Reginald has little choice in the matter. If he leaves the carcass, the dryads will probably be upset with him  _and_ it'll attract unwanted attention. That is not even to mention his daughter- making do is the only option he has in this situation, and quietly collecting as much of his coin as he can so they can leave this place soon. It's too dangerous, and it has been for a long time.

They should have left long ago, but...well, a lot of things.

Too much time has been wasted here, for him and his daughter, and he knows it. He's not even sure why he's stayed here for the last five years, when he could have had his- the thought hurts, an ache slowly growing old- family elsewhere. 

He takes the deer into the shed and hangs it up to work with later, when his arm hurts less. They have plenty of venison and jerky for the time being, so there's not an immediately dire rush to prepare it for consumption right now.

Afterwards, he heads inside the log cabin with Everest, who follows him wherever he goes.

It's modest, a single room with three windows, one by the door, one on the opposite wall, and one on the right-hand side wall adjacent to the door. He has a desk pushed underneath it, and on it are woodworking tools and partially carved figurines. The wall opposite to that has a small fire place of brick, with a chimney he'd painstakingly stacked leading up from it. On either side of it are his and Everest's beds, his closest to the door and hers farther.

The center of the room has a large deer pelt for a rug.

As they enter, Evry quickly heads towards her toys to play. The knot of tension that had built up in him eases a little, but it doesn't completely leave him as he watches her giggle and trot her toy horse around her.

For a little while, he sits and he plays with her, but soon enough he gets up and heads to his table to keep working on his carvings. It's during that time he gets his first hint of what's to follow that night. While the piece of information one of his friends in low places sends him, via a raven which swoops down his chimney and settles itself on his right shoulder, is a bit odd and is especially relevant for the fact of the day before, he ultimately ends up pushing it to the back of his mind.

He's had a lot of lovers and friends over the years, many of which are human; what makes it odd is his friends nearby swear she looks familiar but can't quite place her, and she'd perused for a while. When she heard gossip about what had happened to him, she'd gotten quite upset and stormed off.

Her reaction is odd in of itself, and he quickly stops reading. He doesn't want to see their speculation,  _anyone's_ speculation, about her.

Reginald knows one woman specifically who, at least at one point in time, would have gotten upset over it, and she has been on his mind far too much already today. She isn't human, she's a tiefling like their daughter, but he knows she has magic to alter her appearance, or she did once. He  _doesn't know_ anymore, damn her.

His feelings about the possibility it is  _her_ conflict too much; he wants it to be her, he wants her to come home and stay home, be the mother their daughter needs, but he also wants her to never come back or come near their daughter after she just disappeared and has been gone for two years already.

Tristitia loves so much to runaway from and ignore her past. There's only one time she's ever been honest about it, to his knowledge, and that was while she was pregnant with Everest.

 _They_ are included in that now.

She can stay away.  _(Come home,_ he argues to himself again, and he shunts that train of thought to the recesses of his mind.)

He turns his attention entirely to carving for the next couple of hours and refuses to think about anything but the image in his mind of what he wants and how each stroke he is going to take to get there. A few times, he looks up to check on Evry. She seems content playing with her toys each time he looks, so he returns to his work each time. Occasionally, she gets up and moves closer to ir farther from him, and she asks him questions sweetly, which he answers in turn patiently and indulgently.

Evry exitedly pulls on his arm, saying,  _"Daddy, look what I can do!"_ and opens her hands. As she does so, the window opens- but only slightly.

 _At least she didn't almost set the cabin on fire,_ he thinks.

He doesn't want to discourage her from using her abilities, but he simply has no idea how to teach her to use them; he is neither tiefling or spellcaster.

Another bitter,  _her mother should be here to do this,_ filters through his thoughts. White-hot anger bursts in his veins, both at her and himself for letting her back in his head, and he simply gives Evry a forced smile, a compliment he can't quite recall, and turns away once she returns to playing.

It's not long after that he hears her giggling particularly loudly. The sound makes him grin. He's glad.

"Enjoying your toys, sweetie?" Reginald asks her, not looking up.

Evry giggles some more, and exclaims, "The dryads are playing with me again!"

"Well, maybe if they're good, I'll plant some trees on the beach." Even as he says it, his instincts tell him it's not dryads. And that...that unsettles him. 

He looks around, not turning his head but simply sweeping the visible cabin from where he is and with the tools he has. He doesn't  _see_ anything, even with his eye (and all that tells him is it's not aquatic, which is _so shocking),_  but just as his daughter lets out a surprised, "Ooh!" he catches the faintest... _impression_ of movement in the reflection of his knife, and the whisper of a sound that does not belong.

Reginald stares, hoping to see what's there.

As the seconds tick by, he has the slow but certain realisation that whoever it is, they do not want to be seen and they have access to invisibility.

In the knife, he can see his daughter's toy, what must have surprised her, has beautiful vines of flowers seemingly painted on it, the buds opening and sometimes shutting periodically.

He has...a feeling.

And that feeling wants to say,  _Think of a devil, and a devil shall appear,_ but he knows if that were true, she'd have been in his arms a long time ago.

The whisper he hears in his hear,  _message_ he recognises it as, confirms it.

He'd know her voice anywhere, with or without that thick, indescribable accent she's always had.  _"Are...you two okay? I heard about what happened..."_

Oh, how Everest's heart would be broken to realise it was her mother rather than the dryads playing with her, that she wasn't  _here_ here. Very quietly, as he doesn't need to be loud and he has no desire to alert their daughter, he responds, "We're okay. Now leave us be."

_Don't. Stop hiding, come here._

Reginald stands up. "I'll be right back, Evry." he says, and then he's out the door, hoping he can catch up to her.

He has too much to say and too much he needs to know to just let her go now.

It's not hard to find her; she probably noticed him follow after her immediately, she's always been paranoid and paranoia, as it turns out, is great for developing a good perception of one's environment.

Tristitia has dropped the pretense of hiding from _him,_ but it doesn't escape his attention she's put one of the trees squarely between her and the windows of the cabin. He's glad. He doesn't want Evry to see her, not if she's not going to stay. If she's just going to leave, he'd rather their daughter forget her altogether.

She looks older- she is, they both are, so this isn't surprising. Her ebony black hair has grown out, nearly a foot longer than it was last he saw her, or so he estimates. It's twisted back in a braid, with short, feathery bangs falling in front if her equally dark eyes. She's dressed in a fine blouse that compliments her pale nude, red-hued skin, with a supportive brown corset done snugly but not to the point of suffocation, and trousers with tall boots. Around her neck is a simple looking leather choker with a circular stone, about as big as a gold piece was round, that appeared to be a murky moonstone, and hanging at her hip was her components pouch as well as a sheathed dagger with a hilt wrapped in black leather. There's jewelry upon her slightly curled horns, simple and golden, capping the tips into more blunted points.

What stands out to him the most is her body language; she's all but hugging herself, and her tail, ever her emotional tell, is coiling up tightly around itself without any grace, and then dropping. Tristitia used to smile all the time and have such a bright spark in her eyes, even when she was just acting, that he's almost-  _almost-_ taken aback by how solemn and sad her expression is. 

There's...something expectant about her.

In a word, she looks  _ruthful._

He takes a deep, silent breath. "Why are you here?"

She stares at him, taking in his features much more slowly and- ah, he can see it from the way she works her jaw, the way she purses her lips afterwards and averts her gaze from his- working up the courage to respond. 

"I...I wanted to make sure you both were okay. I was going to settle with the gossip, staying away from you two because..." A rueful chuckle bubbles from her throat. "And then I heard what happened, and it scared me." Her tail lashes as she says it. "I wanted to see you were okay for myself, Rory."

Reginald believes her. It doesn't change what he has to ask next, or the sadness he feels about it. Or the fact this is likely to be a messy conversation.

"Why did you leave?"

She opens her mouth, then, wordlessly closes it. Reginald knows her well enough to know her first instinct was to lie, it's her habit to do so compulsively and extravagantly, about this. About things in her past she's labeled painful. (He's glad it hurts, but not out of spite.) But, she stopped herself. She didn't lie to him, and that makes him a little hopeful against his better judgement.

It takes about another minute, during which she has unfolded her arms to wring her hands together instead. It's an idiosyncrasy of hers he is familiar with.

For a moment, the forest around them and last five years could fade away, he can imagine they're lying in bed again, expecting Evry soon, and Tristitia is finally telling him all of the truths she tried to pretend weren't true, and failing that delusion, tried to ignore and deny. She never did particularly care for anyone to see past the facade of a blithe individual, with a cheery smile, bright eyes, and enthusiastic voice. It was difficult for her.

Somehow, it actually seems easy for her to let him see this and to be- exposed, vulnerable. She doesn't even _try_ to disguise what she's feeling from him.

Her tail freely lashes and coils around her ankles, still so long it would drag on the ground far behind her if it weren't for the muscles supporting it. It's nearly as long as she is tall, about five and a half feet in length- just two inches shorter than her, not including any height from her horns.

To an extent, he can appreciate the emotional honesty. It's a start.

Finding the words themselves appears to be the challenge for her, as she struggles to articulate. "I'm sorry," is what she says at first. Her voice is so quiet, standing within five feet of her its barely more than a whisper. She repeats it, just as ruefully, "I'm sorry. I thought if I tried, maybe...it would be okay. But all it did was make all those...those thoughts and feelings worse. I couldn't handle it anymore."

That doesn't mean he's not upset, or that he's going to just accept this.

An apology and an explanation don't change the past or what she did and didn't do. She ran away, she didn't stay and she didn't come home.

"Evry doesn't deserve this. All she knows is her mommy left her. I won't let you come back into her life just to hurt her again." He turns his face away, unable to look at her as he says, "She's all I have left."

Tristitia almost sounds calm, continuing to speak in that breathy, ruthful tone of voice. It sounds similar to acceptance, but not entirely.

"I was never going to do that to her. I can't imagine anything more cruel than to come back into her life and leave again."  _Good._ he thinks. Then, she adds, "I didn't want to do it to you either."

"You obviously want to be here for her," he says, pointedly ignoring her addition. This isn't about him at all. (It is, but Everest comes first, and she always will.) "But I can't let you sneak around like this like some kind of stalker." Tristitia makes a face at that and her tail lashes with particular agitation, but she says nothing. "If you want to have a relationship with our daughter, you have to  _be_ here."

She turns her face downwards, hugging herself again and closing her eyes tight. He can see her shoulders shake as she takes a deep breath.

When she opens her eyes, glistening from tears she was trying not to cry, refusing to look directly at him, Reginald loses his patience. He pivots to walk away from her, back to the cabin and his daughter and his life  _without_ her- but he stops himself.

There's something...

He looks back at her, and she's watching him with the saddest, most regretful and  _conflicted_ eyes, her hand frozen where it had reached out to touch him. To stop him? In its own way, that makes him sad all over again. If only she would just stopoverthinking so much, it'd be as plain to her as it was to him that she  _wants_ to stay. That it was too much before because it wasn't what she knew, and she felt safe with what she knew. What she didn't know, she ran from because it frightened her to not know exactly what to do and how to be.

He doesn't just mean he and their daughter. Other lifestyles- he's sure she probably went right back to smuggling and pick-pocketing for a living.

It's what she knew.

"...It's become too dangerous for us to stay here. I'm collecting what gold I can, and then we're leaving for good. I'm giving you one year, and that's all. After that, if you don't come by then...you won't see us again, ever."

Tristitia- she actually smiles a little at that, which is not quite how he anticipated her responding to such an ultimatum.

Her fingertips ever-so slightly make contact with his chest. He stiffens under her tentative touch, but he doesn't pull away. He stays still even as she steps into his space, staring up at his eyes. For a solid minute, they simply stare at and examine each other. Her eyes aren't welling with tears quite as much as he'd thought from those that had started to roll down her cheeks against her will. In return, she seems to be searching his face for...something.

Reginald can't quite explain it, but he has this... _intuitive_ feeling looking at her now. The only way he can describe it to himself is that it's as though he could do  _anything_ to Tristitia right now, and she would accept it. If he wanted to, he could seek comfort or pleasure from her and she'd give it to him freely. If he lashed out at her, short of maiming or killing her, she would let him.

The realisation is somewhat unsettling.

"...I'll be here by then." she says finally.

It snaps him out of his thoughts, for which he is grateful. Skeptical and wanting badly to believe her, but grateful.

The feeling doesn't leave him.

Her hands drop, her left from over his heart and her right from where she'd held onto the sleeve of her blouse. With little delay, he feels her hands grasping his. Her fingers push something small, circular, and cold against his palm.

A ring.

...a ring?

"It's...it's a ring of sending. I have the other one in the set." she explains. Her hands linger over his until he pulls it away, and when it does so it is so he can stare at the small, silver band, allowing himself a glimmer of hope. "I saw them, while in the capital...and thought of you two."

Reginald closes his hand around the ring and shuts his eyes for a moment. He's not really sure what to say to her; he's surprised by her, pleasantly so, but he has his reservations.

She chose to be gone for two years, and she hadn't come here intending  _this._

This meeting is an accident, a lapse in her judgement spurred by emotions. While she did not word it in that way, it is her truth that she told him.

Ultimately, Tristitia will be gone for another year if she came back at all.

"You're leaving soon, then?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

She looks down, but nods. "I'll come back, Rory."

He rubs his thumb over the band. _Maybe you will,_ he thinks before storing it away in his pocket. In the moment he closes his eyes, Reginald feels her hand upon his chest again. Not even a moment later, he feels- her head, leaning on his shoulder, and her body close but not quite pressing against him. Just... _there._

This close, he can smell the sea clinging to her strongly. Ocean foam and a whiff of salty, but clean winds, and...something flowery.

And underneath it all, there's something distinctly  _her_ that he can't describe.

Reginald neither relaxes nor leans into her touch, he stays still- but it's a near thing. He misses her, misses having her close like this. He closes his eyes and exhales deeply, feeling the tension build up in his muscles like a bowstring ready to snap.

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself too, while I'm gone?" He opens his eyes and somewhat cranes his neck at an awkward angle to look at her.

After a couple of moments, he answers, "I promise I'll take care of Evry."

"I know you will." Her fingertips push against him harder, and he can feel her tail slowly curling around his ankle. Days long gone flash to mind, her tail an anchor of casual, physical contact even if they were feet from one another. "I'm worried you won't take care of yourself and...I want you both safe."

He doesn't respond.

Tristitia stays close for another few moments, during which he remains just as still as he was before, wanting neither to reject her touch or to cave in to his darker thoughts telling him to make her stay _now._ He's not above emotionally blackmailing her or physically dragging her into the cabin and not letting her leave to do so- but he's given her an ultimatum. Whether she'll return like she says and he hopes is to be seen.

Then, she takes a step backwards. With a quiet, exasperated huff, she grips her tail and pulls it from around his leg.

He misses the familiar feeling of it immediately.

She looks him in the eyes one last time, then smiles sadly. "I'll be seeing you, then." She reaches her hand up to the simple leather choker around her neck. The gem flashes dimly for a moment, and he can see the illusion of an elven woman settle over her.

(He finds it interesting she's using a necklace for that now, and thinks ironically to himself he should have invested in one. Maybe he would have gone uncaught and un-convicted for any of his misdeeds, like she has.)

Tristitia turns, hugging herself again, and begins to walk away from him, in the direction of Dark Harbor proper.

 _Begins_ is the keyword. In retrospect, he can't believe he wasn't expecting it.

"Mommy?"

Reginald feels his heart drop in unison to the complete halt of Tristitia's footsteps. He can see the line of her back straighten like a ramrod and her head snap up. There's a bit of hesitation to her as she turns, but she turns to look at their daughter. Evry is crying a bit, tears swelling in her eyes and her lips beginning to pout.

The disguise Tristitia put on just a moment ago, it falls away and she all but drops herself to her knees, hands outstretched to Evry. "Sweetie...I'm right here."

She doesn't even finish speaking before their daughter throws herself at her, clinging to her chest. Tristitia wraps her arms around her tight and nuzzles against the top of Evry's curly, dirty blonde hair. Her tail curls around the two of them, coiling on itself tightly as it circles around to her other knee.

Tears that she'd struggled to not shed before roll freely down her cheeks, and he can see her trembling.

"I'm sorry, Momma." 

Reginald can feel himself finally start to cry too. The tears begin to build up, stinging his eyes at last.

"Shhh," Tristitia tells her, pressing a kiss against one of Evry's stubby horns. "You've done  _nothing_ wrong.  _I'm_ sorry." She repeats herself a few more times,  _you've done nothing wrong, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'msorryI'msorry,_ voice shaking. Her accent is so heavy and slurred he almost can't understand her.

Despite her mother's words, Evry sobs, "I'm sorry I'm not good enough, Momma."

He can look at the two anymore.

"Who said that to you?" Reginald thought he'd already identified the moment his heart shattered to pieces, but the absolutely distraught tone of Tristitia's voice and their daughter's insecurities pick up what turns out to be his fractured emotions and throws it back down to the ground. "I love you, I love you so, so, so much, Evry, and I'm so, so  _sorry_ I haven't been here for you. But that's-" a tiny sob escapes her, sounding choked. "-that's not your fault. I haven't been gone because of you."

Evry continues sobbing.

Reginald looks down. A blot of red catches his attention; his wound started bleeding again. He's not sure whether to be relieved because that gives him an escape, just for a little bit, or frustrated because he won't have enough bandages to refresh the ones around his stomach, the rest have been soiled already.

"Alright. It's almost time for bed, love." he says, wiping his tears.

The two continue holding each other, Tristitia planting kisses on the top of Evry's head, giving special attention to her nubs, and they slowly start to calm.

Evry leans back from her mother, rubbing at her cheeks and sniffling. "Why are people so mean to Daddy?"

Tristitia responds, first, with a very broken, very cynical laugh, followed by an unsteady breath. She raises a hand to rub her thumb over Evry's blotchy cheeks. "People are...judgmental and often refuse to look beyond each other's past mistakes and poor choices. They even judge you for things outside of your control, like things your parents did, or just being different."

 _Things your parents did..._ like an act of cowardice resulting in the deaths of nearly two thousand under their command.  _Being different,_ like being born a tiefling to two human parents who felt nothing but revile for this infernal "changeling" who "replaced" their beautiful child.

It's not a very succinct explanation for a child, but it's an attempt.

Tristitia stands up then, holding Evry in her arms still. She looks at Reginald, brows creasing in concern at the sight of his arm.

"I'm going to go change my bandages really quick." he tells her.

"Would you like me to bring her inside?" she asks.

"No, go ahead and talk with Evry."

Reginald can feel her watching him as he heads inside. He glances outside the window from the corner of his eyes as he moves to his desk, and sees Tristitia carrying Evry over to one of the many tree stumps around the cabin. She sits on one, with their daughter in her lap. He can see Evry reaches for her horns and Tristitia tilts head turned so that she can grab one of them. Evry's shoulders shake and he can hear her giggle even from inside. Tristitia chuckles a little in return and strokes her hair, carding her fingers carefully through the curly locks.

He turns his eyes to his desk, contemplating which of his shirts he'll have to cut up and use as make shift bandages later before he's even used the ones he has left.

 _"I love you, Mommy."_ he hears Evry say.

 _"I love you too, darling."_ Tristitia plants a long kiss on her forehead.

Well, there's the shirt the dogs ripped through it to get to the flesh of his abdomen. What parts of it aren't bloodied, perhaps he can re-purpose.

 _"Are you going to stay?"_  

Tristitia is silent for a few moments, during which time he rummages through his hamper, arm still unattended.

 _"...I can stay for a while, darling, but it's up to your father if it's okay for me to stay here. I will have to go soon, though; Mommy still has some things she needs to do before she can come home."_ Reginald closes his eyes and exhales.

He'll have to talk to her some more, without Evry, he knows.

She should know he'll let her stay, that was never a question; if Evry wants her here, even if she'll be leaving- maybe not for good or so long this time- and he doesn't want her to go at all, he'll allow it.

_"Why would Daddy not want you here?"_

Reginald glances out the window on his way to his desk, shirt in hand. Tristitia pushes one of Evry's stray bangs away from her face and tucks it behind her ear.

 _"Daddy is...a bit upset with me right now. I'm not sure how to explain it, darling."_ Tristitia answers.

Evry's voice is sad, invoking the mental image of a kicked puppy,  _"Okay..."_  

The two continue talking while he unwinds and replaces the bloody bandages with the clean ones. He tries not to eavesdrop too much more on the two too much more as he does.

His mind wanders to Tristitia saying it's up to him and realises, the reason he felt like he could lash out at her, or take from her, or make her stay or go- it's because that's what she felt. When she stopped to let him catch her, she decided it would be up to him, what happens next.

He could have just told her to come inside and not leave them again, but he'd sought understanding, _why,_ and...he wanted her to stay of her own volition.

Reginald pulls the ring from his pocket and stares at it again. The glimmer of hope in his chest, that if he lets her go she'll come back on her own, wants to swell.

He doesn't want to get burned if she doesn't, so he stamps the feeling down.

He puts the ring back in his pocket before stepping out.

Evry is still sitting on her mother's lap, and Tristitia is still playing with her curls and kissing her. They speak in low, secretive tones, giggling together quietly.

Their daughter's tail is still short enough her long skirt is enough to hide it, but even so he can tell their tails are intertwined. It's quite obvious when Tristitia's tail, otherwise limp on the ground around them, curves up and the very tip of it is obscured.

He smiles at the sight.

As he gets close, he asks Evry, "Would you mind giving Mommy and I a minute to speak with each other?"

The two look up at him. Tristitia's smile fades a little, growing more serious, while Evry outright frowns and pouts at him and tightens her hold on her mother's horn.

"It's okay, darling. We'll come inside in a little bit." Tristitia tells her, cupping her face to bring her closer so she can kiss her temple. "Promise."

Still looking reluctant, she slowly crawls off of her mother's lap. She hugs Reginald briefly, and then hurries inside to watch them from the window.

Tristitia stands and chuckles softly as she goes. He crosses his arms.

"So. What do you plan on doing when you leave again?" 

Almost in mirror to him, she hugs herself again. Her tail sways and twitches behind her, but it doesn't lash or coil; she's feeling calmer now.

"I...I was going to return to the capital to collect a couple more bounties to do. I'll probably join a crew and accept larger bounties for the two of you. Look for a trade I can learn, for when I retire." Tristitia has always been quick thinking and come up with schemes and plans easily, it's one of her many traits that drew them together when they were partners in crime, and among the reasons she's never been caught. He's not too surprised, considering, that she seems to have put some serious thought into this. That she says _retire_ catches his attention especially. It sounds so formal and official when she says it like that. "But I don't think I have to go tonight; there are other ships I can take, later. It's more important now that Evry's seen me here, to rebuild our relationship before I go." Reginald agrees.

"Thank you. For at least trying. To be honest, I've been very resentful of you for leaving this last year and a half." he confesses. It's time for him to return her emotional honesty, because he's being keeping her at arms length in that regard.

Tristitia nods, eyes closing in such a way it's- acceptance.

"I'm sorry." she repeats. She steps in closer to him, like she had earlier. "I've missed you two. I wish I'd learned how to deal with those things before..."

His chest tightens a bit. "I've missed you too. I just wish we could have talked more. If you'd only talked to me..."

Tristitia purses her lips for a moment, biting her bottom one ever so slightly. She turns her eyes down, fixing them on his arm. She lifts her hand up, reaching towards the bandages, but doesn't quite touch. "I wish I could heal it for you." she says, regretful.

"It'll be fine," he assures her. "I just have to carry my sword with me next time."

"You shouldn't have to, Rory." Her hand settles against his shoulder instead. "You'll use the ring to tell me if something like this happens again?"

"Of course, love." She looks down, smiling to herself. It doesn't quite register to him as the relief he was expect- oh... _oh._ He doesn't even realise he's let his arms fall to his sides until she steps in close, tucking herself against him and resting her hands on his shoulder-blades, arms circling around his waist carefully. "Not that I'll let there be a next time." he adds, holding her in return.

He can feel the tension in her body slowly draining from her. She nuzzles his neck, breathing in deeply. Reginald kisses the top of her head, between her horns.

"I love you," he says.

He does. He loves her, and he's loved her for a long time. He wouldn't have been so bitter and resentful at her for nearly two years if he hadn't.

"I love you too." Tris turns her head up to look at him, stare into his eyes, and brings her hand up to cup his face. She caresses her thumb over his cheek and his beard. They stay like that for a few moments before she says, "I think we should head inside to Evry now."

Reginald smiles, brushing her fringe behind her ear, and nods. Taking her in hand, he leads the way inside. "It's very nice," she compliments.

"Thank you. I made it myself."

"You did wonderful, amatus."

"Thank you, amora."

Evry hops off his bed as soon as he opens the door, launching herself at them. Tris catches her, lifting her up to nuzzle against her forehead.

After she sets their back on her feet, she's immediately being led around the cabin by the hand. Evry points out everything to her, their beds, the pelt, the taxidermy deer head above the fireplace, her toys, where they keep their eating utensils, food, spices, and cooking supplies, and his desk which she gives an accompanying, quickly spoken summary of what he does at it (mostly wood carving) and how they sometimes pull it away from the wall to use as a table.

Tris nods,  _oohs_ and  _ahhs_ _,_ tells her that her toys look pretty, did Daddy make them for you? She looks all around, although she's already gotten a pretty good look earlier.

Eventually, the two end up sitting on the pelt together. Tris merely glances at the fireplace and the logs ignite in a small fire. Reginald adds more wood to the fire, grousing to himself at how effortless the survival aspects of this life would be to her. Between mending, prestidigitation, and thaumaturgy- it's a lot of time and energy, not to mention supplies, saved at the cost of virtually nothing in return. She doesn't even have to worry if she over or under spices food, or burns it a little, it can still taste good, and then she can warm it later without having to cook it longer.

Of course,  _that_ works Evry up into a whirlwind of excitement. She giggles and  _oohs_ and  _ahhs_ like her mother had just a couple minutes sooner.

Reginald gives Tris a warning glare when she starts doing magic tricks, changing the colors of the fire to their daughter's delight. When she invites Evry to try and change it as well, he hisses,  _"Not inside,"_ to her.  _"She's already almost burned it down."_

Tris gives him a weird look, but acquiesces. She moves them away from the fire, and onto simpler, less dangerous tricks like changing the colors of her eyes, Evry's toys, and the deer pelt. He returns to carving, looking up every so often to see Evry trying to copy her while she explains in stilting words how to.

It is when he sees they are both holding illusory necklaces that disappear within seconds that he realises there is more to the look Tris gave him earlier.

Since what they were doing is harmless though, he lets it be.

After a little while, they eat a modest dinner of venison jerky and bread, and change Evry into her pajamas. They don't have any of Tris's old clothes anymore, so for bed she simply slips off her boots, corset, and her components pouch. For a minute, she thumbs at her trousers, as if debating taking them off too, before crawling into bed with their daughter to cuddle.

Reginald thinks that would be that for the day. He keeps whittling away at his project, and he will for another couple of hours before going to bed.

He listens carefully to the sound of their breathing as he works.

Evry falls asleep, deeply, within the first quarter of an hour. Tris is still awake, and still curled up on the too small bed, tail hanging off of it and sweeping on the floor, occasionally thumping when its tip twitches. About another fifteen minutes later, she disentangles herself from their daughter. She crosses the small space quietly.

Tris comes to stand next to him, peering over his left shoulder.

He sets his knife down on the table, turning to look at her.  _Gods._ She was still so beautiful, even more so if it wasn't simply a trick of his memory. There was something about the soft, orange glow from the fire dappling across her skin as it danced in the fireplace, and the shadows cast by it, that made her look so...so...

Tris gives him a smile and runs her thumb over his beard. Her hand trails down, to his shoulder again, before she hesitates. "Can I see it?" she asks, face turned down but eyes meeting his.

Reginald nods, swallowing the words,  _you're beautiful_ _._ He unwinds the bandages for a second time that evening and holds his arm up for her to inspect. Her touch is careful and light against his skin. She hums to herself, and briefly walks towards the other side of the cabin. When she comes back, she has a rag in hand and a small bowl of water.

Tris sets the bowl down quietly near where his tool is and hoists her left leg up to sit beside it. She passes her hand over the water before dipping the rag in it, and with her other hand, gently maneuvers his arm for her.

He remains pliant, staring at her as she works and musing to himself. 

This is an ideal position for her to work. She's left handed, of course, so having the bowl to her left and his arm immediately in front of her, bending towards her right, is convenient and efficient. 

There's a forlorn look in her eyes, a hint of guilt that seems to increase when she looks at the injury.

Reginald is grateful to have someone else take a look at it, and to help him clean and dress it, though he would never ask.

And she does. After spending a few minutes satisfying herself that it's clean, she sets the rag down on the side of the bowl, and reaches for the ointment he neglected earlier. She sniffs it first, nose scrunching in response to the poignant smell, and then she swipes her forefingers through it and begins to gently apply it.

He'd like to see her hair down again. It's so much longer now, he can only imagine what it looks like cascading around her face. The mental image he builds in his mind, it looks even softer than real life.

Seeing her bang slip from behind her ear, he reaches up and tucks it back again. She pauses when he does, then smiles softly and resumes.

Reginald frowns when she picks up the bandages, remembering he hasn't cut up his ruined shirt yet-

Tris grabs one end in her right hand, and encloses its width with her left. As she pulls it, sliding it through her left hand, he can see all the blood and dirtied ointment smears vanish until all that's left is unsoiled, pristine cloth which she begins to wind around his arm.

How useful her magic is. He would have had to throw those into the fire.

Afterwards, she rubs her thumb against his skin. "Can I see the other?"

"Of course," he says. Reginald moves to pull his shirt off, but Tris beats him ever so slightly, waving his hands away. He lifts his arms to help her pull it off, but she, instead, merely pushes it up.

These bandages he hasn't changed yet, and he really should have sooner. The blood has started to dry and bind the cloth  _to_ him in some places. 

She frowns, and slips off the desk to crouch down (he almost thinks  _"to her knees,"_ but realises how sexual that would sound) and get a better look. He decides to hold his shirt up for her, so she can poke and prod at the area without it in her way.

Tris does, brow creasing.

This time, it's not quite as gentle as she'd like when she starts to unravel these bandages, he knows from the way she murmurs, "I'm sorry," when he reflexively winces.

"It can't be helped," he reassures her.

Firmly, she continues. He scoots forward in his seat, enough so she can slide her hand behind him, and tries very hard not to think of the fact that she's  _kneeling, between his legs, in the dark,_ so he thinks about Evry in the room with them.

 _No,_ he tells a certain part of himself.  _We are_ _not thinking about that._

It doesn't completely listen to him, still responding to the awkward position.

Tris, thankfully, does not seem to notice, fixated as she is tending to his wound. She twists around and grabs the bowl and rag. As they pass by him, he can see both the water and the fabric are perfectly clean, and the thought,  _damn,_ passes through his head.  _If that's not a convenient ability._

It takes her a bit longer to clean this one. She tilts her head to get a better look, leaving her neck on display without her hair to conceal it.

Reginald looks away, towards Evry. She's sprawled across her mattress on her stomach now, arms hugging a section of bunched up blanket where Tris had been curled up with her. His eyes travel out the back window, out to the forest. It's dark out, as to be expected. He can hardly make out the silhouette of the trees, though he knows Tris and Evry can see well enough out there.

He's a bit taken aback when Tris abruptly stands. She seems amused by his reaction as she circles around his chair. Her tail sways and curves behind her, brushing against him before twitching away.

Reginald looks down to see her handiwork. It appears and feels much better than before, the bandages clean and wound snugly around him. He doesn't understand how she got it wrapped without drawing his attention, or how she finished so quickly.

(He tells the part of his mind that interprets that as an innuendo to  _kindly shut the fuck up. He's not sleeping with her._ Another part of his mind, owing allegiance to neither disagreeing faction, thinks  _imagine how much harder it'd be if she had stripped out of her trousers._ He swallows hard, and pushes the image away.)

"Thank you," he says. "It looks very nice. Did you get lessons?"

Tris shrugs as she picks up his ruined shirt. "No, not anymore than I usually do." Ah, yes, she was lucky and naturally gifted like that.

He watches her inspect it. Then, she absently reaches into her bag on the corner of his desk, and withdraws two smooth looking stones. She puts the shirt back on the table and starts to pass the lodestones over the tears individually. Here he had been about to cut it up more, and she's fixing it so well there's not even a trace it happened in the first place.

She doesn't seem very satisfied with it despite the fact he can't see any signs of damage- well, dried blood aside- as she holds it up frowning. Then, she turns her eyes to his bed, his sheets and blankets.

Slowly, her gaze shifts to their daughter, studying her bedding and pajamas in particular.

 _Oh._  

At last, she closes her eyes and starts to fold up his shirt. "I'm going into town tomorrow- don't give me that look. You two need new clothes and bedding."

Reginald obeys her after a moment, shifting from his disapproving and disappointed scowl to something more dubious. "I would rather you buy her new things."

She huffs, "And I will, Regi."

He blinks at her, and she blinks at him, both surprised. "Sorry, Rory."

"You can still call me Regi," he points out.

"Regi was your nickname when we were hustling. You chose Rory specifically to leave it behind." Tris says.

Reginald opens his mouth, but then closes it. She likes letting the past be that past, and he sees no point fighting with her about calling him by his chosen nickname. It was a slip up, and he's not upset by it or her correcting herself.

"Is that all?" he asks. Tris blinks at him, confused, so he elaborates, "That you plan to do tomorrow?"

"Hm," she hums. Looking at Evry, she says, "Well, I'll wait until after she wakes up and we eat. If it's sunny out, I think we should go down to the beach."

Reginald nods- then he remembers he said he'd plant some trees on the beach for the _"dryads"_  if they played well with Evry. "Is that so?" he says, grinning indulgently at Tris.

"That is so." she says matter of factually, tail tip flicking. "Reginald."

The change in her tone of voice is sudden, from playful, how he remembers her, to more- but not completely- serious. "...yes?"

"You realise she's a sorceress, right?"

The knowledge isn't new- or, rather, he's had an inkling she would be but he's tried to push acknowledging it to the side. "What makes you say that?" he asks anyway.

"Thaumaturgy can't start fires, only how bright or dim they are and their color." She makes her point as she speaks, the fire growing inexplicably dim despite the fact he can see it's burning all the same, and then brightening again whilst turning from red and orange to purple and blue.

Ah. Well, when she puts it like that, it seems incredibly obvious she's a sorceress and not just someone with an infernal bloodline.

"And she was able to use prestidigitation to make that trinket earlier."

Reginald nods. "I suspected. And, I planned to find a sorcerer who could teach her more once we left."

Tris's lips twitch. With a hint of amusement, she informs him, "I'll spend some time teaching her before I go, so if she sets the cabin on fire, you'll know it wasn't by accident."

He gives her a very flat, very unamused stare.

This seems to be the reaction she wanted, because she laughs, covering her mouth somewhat daintily to quiet herself. "I jest, love. I'll teach her control so she doesn't accidentally cast anything."

Gods help him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravenloft in this is Ravenloft in name only.
> 
> There was supposed to be smut, but I gave up.

The next day passes as Tris described it would.

She curls back up with their daughter when she's finally ready to sleep an hour later, around the same time he decides to go to bed. He's relieved to wake up in the morning and find she's still there.

Once they're all awake, they sit on the deer pelt and eat together. During breakfast, Tris tells Evry her plans, going into town for a little bit and then the three of them going to the beach later. Their daughter is less than thrilled to hear the first part of this plan, but Tris manages to assuage her with the promise of playing in the water and collecting shells.

Evry's still not happy when she goes, insisting on a lot of hugs and kisses and asking why she can't go with, but the two of them manage to pass the time doing something other than waiting for her.

Reginald sits on the floor writing in his journal about the night before and plans for the day, with Evry playing with her toys beside him. 

Around noon, four hours later, Tris returns.

She has several gold worth of clothes, including a couple sets for Reginald, pajamas and common clothes for herself, and the rest are various dresses a shirts and skirts for Evry. She has a set of nicer bedding which she dumps on Reginald and another that she switches Evry's slightly worn sheets and blankets for.

Reginald thinks she could have just spent the gold on Evry, he's fine, but he pulls off the threadbare, makeshift bedding he's been using and puts the newer ones on, and then changes into one of the set of clothes she got for him.

Tris strips out of her finer clothes and pulls on the nice, but modest ones.

They spend most of the rest of the day at the beach. It's sunny and the water is clear. With his eye, he can easily see all the aquatic life around them and so can his daughter.

Evry grabs a bucket and starts collecting crabs, while Tris looks for seashells. She shows the prettier ones to their daughter, who  _ooohs_ over them. After a while, they both start changing the colors of the water around them, like dumping dye into waves and watching it spread and stain, then be dispersed. Evry starts giggling particularly loud at that, and Tris grins widely- and proudly. She plants a kiss on the top of Evry's head, and they continue playing and looking for both crabs and seashells.

Reginald spends his time planting trees like he promised, even if it turned out the dryads weren't the ones playing with Evry. It's better safe than sorry, a promise is a promise, and, frankly, dryads scare him.

They head home when the sun begins to set, bucket of crabs and seashells in hand.

Cooking the crabs is a bit of a pain in ass. Tris is of no help, instead watching he and Evry salt and season the water and then struggle to get the crustaceans into the pot without getting pinched, from where she sits at his desk. Her expression is blank, and her tailtip flicks idly, so he's not really sure if she's deeply amused by his not-swearing or sad for the crabs.

She's of more assistance cleaning them afterwards, breaking through their hard shells into their soft bodies with dexterous fingers.

Tris cuddles with their daughter until she falls asleep, then carefully climbs out of bed and joins him over at his desk. Like the night before, she insists on tending to his bandages, but he convinces her to allow him to redress them himself. He does not want a repeat of last night, of her sliding to her knees between his legs, and especially not in tonight's attire; her nightgown was not designed with her tail, or any tiefling's tail for that matter, in mind, so naturally the skirt of it, only intended to reach mid-thigh, rides up  _immensely_ in the back. Its neckline is a deep 'v,' with thin straps holding it up- the whole things fits her body  _too_ well.

It says  _"fuck me,"_ without her saying or indicating anything at all.

And he would  _like_ to tear the thin, opal colored gown off of her, or- oh, maybe just push it up and shove her up against the wall and take her until she's sobbing broken- with or without it on. Both versions are a deeply arousing consideration.

Reginald is still upset enough at her to not want to sleep with her... _yet._  And their daughter is in the room; so no, he doesn't let her change the bandages on his stomach. But it's only by a subtle inch that his self restraint and mantra  _Evry is in the room_ wins out over his lust.

(That doesn't mean he doesn't fantasise about it.)

After a couple hours of spending time together, they both head to bed. Tris curls up with their daughter again, and he flops onto his bed.

In the morning, he's surprised to find Tris  _cleaning._ She's sweeping a pile that is equal parts dust and dirt out the door. A quick look around tells him everything's been tidied, though all of his tools are still out on his desk; just straightened. There's a pewter bowl next to them, steam rising from it and a mouth watering aroma.

He gets up and sits down at the desk, poking at the stew before shrugging and eating it anyway. Reginald isn't quite surprised when it tastes _divine,_ because, well,  _magic._

Evry's on her eating her own bowl of leftover stew, watching her mother drag the deer pelt out of the cabin and, through a combination of waving, beating, and using magic on it, brings it back inside in absolutely  _pristine_ condition.

He doubts that pelt has  _ever_ been so clean in its entire existence.

Then, Tris just waves her hands over herself, and all evidence of being dirtied vanishes.

Isn't that just nice?

The days follow a pattern like that for the next week and a half.

Tris usually wakes up around the same time as him, cleans a bit and helps prepare food, and then spends all her energy and attention on Evry. They play, a lot, and Tris usually finds a way to incorporate magic into it- why wouldn't she? She wouldn't know what to do with herself if she didn't have magic- and spin a fun little lesson. When she does, she makes sure to do it outside or keep it _without doubt_  harmless; small things like changing colors and creating sensory effects. A nice smell, something poking one of them- he's not really sure. For the most part, Tris makes a point to respectfully disclude him.

At night, she curls up with Evry until their daughter falls asleep, and then spends the next two hours with him. After the first few days, he no longer needs the bandages.

After that, Reginald starts spending most of his time in the shed, skinning, flaying, and butchering the deer to prepare it for eventual consumption. He's glad to not have to worry about Evry, keeping her entertained and protected, while doing this; it progresses much quicker when he can just  _focus._

Most of the meat, he turns into jerky, but some he leaves as slabs of venison.

When he's not in the shed tending to that, he's updating his journal as casually as he can, or carving.

Tris doesn't go down to the beach except when he goes, so the few other times they go, he plants some more trees just to pass the time and let them have their mother and daughter time. It also gives him the opportunity to keep an eye out without having to worry too much about what Evry is doing and where. He doesn't see anything out of the ordinary, but he does it each time anyway. Better safe than sorry again.

It's nice. 

He grows complacent in the halcyon of having Tris there; that is glaringly obvious to him in retrospect.

The tenth day is the one to punish him hard for not expecting  _or_ preparing for anything further to happen with the guards, so long as he stays out of Dark Harbor proper. It is also the first day since after Tris forayed into town on the second day, that they have been apart.

What gets him the most is Tris  _told him_ she had an uneasy feeling.

She begged him to put on the ring and to come with them an hour, but he was insistent he would stay at the cabin and prepare to go hunting while they went to the beach to collect more crabs and shells together, and play in the water.

He was so preoccupied thinking about  _Evry's_ safety he didn't consider  _his own._

Reginald is inside the cabin when it happens. Tris has been gone no longer than half an hour or so, he's actually not too sure about the specifics.

They break two of the windows with crossbow bolts. He kills the one that dares make it inside with his bow, and then hops out the back window opposite the door. He kills the second one there.

His memory of running through the forest is a blur. He knows there were six, and he strung them along killing them from a range, and he knows he got hit by their bolts more than once. He's not sure how far he got, how long he ran, but he remembers the last one catching up to him, and yelling and shouting as they struggled before his world goes cold and dark.

Reginald isn't expecting to wake up in all honesty, but he does.

He wakes up in his bed, feeling tired and sore but without injury. The smell of stew floods his senses, and his cheek stings from where Evry just smacked him. When he looks around, he finds no trace of the break in. The windows have no evidence of every being broken, the body is gone, and everything- he does mean  _everything-_  in the cabin looks exceptionally clean.

Tris scolds Evry for waking up, then soothingly tells her, "Daddy needs to rest, okay, darling? It's important we let him sleep." 

Since he's awake, she hands him a bowl of stew, which he doesn't remember the process of eating or even how it tastes; as soon as he finishes it, he passes out again.

The second time he awakes, it's the middle of the night. 

Reginald doesn't need to look at Evry's bed to know she's sleeping alone, because Tris is asleep next to him.

On the floor, leaning against his bed with her arms pillowing her head. There's dark circles under her eyes, not that easily noticable in the dim light of the fire but he can see them regardless. She's not even in her pajamas, and more than that, she's still wearing her corset. What Reginald gathers from that is she unwillingly succumbed to exhaustion, and has probably tried to be awake since he got hurt... however many days ago it was.

He's careful not to wake her when he moves, sitting up first.

Somewhat as a surprise to him, he's bare-chested. This is a bit confusing, because he vaguely recalls still being in his shirt last he awoke, but he figures Tris took it off of him to keep a better eye on his wounds-

He has none, but there are two new scars he can see, and he's sure there are more he can't.

They are small burns where he knows he'd been hit by a bolt, one near his collar bone above his heart and the other dangerously close to piercing his right lung. He feels around his back, and can find three more smooth expanses of skin, the distinct feel of scars which he knows well, that were not there before. (It amazes him he can tell they are new, when he already has so many scars on his back.)

Two of them are in about the same area as the two he can see, but the last one does not have a sister scar; it down below his heart, and seems to have a longer, thin scar going through it.

After some thought, he has a pretty good idea what happened. The burns were from the injuries being cauterised, to stop the bleeding. The one on his shoulder is a bit more distinct, so that cauterising flame was a bit more out of control. The scars on his back, the two of them, were caused by the bolts being pushed out first. From this rationalising, he concludes that the lone scar with the cut through it is the result of one of the bolts breaking, becoming too short to push through.

Whoever removed the other two and cauterised them, they had to carefully cut and pull the third bolt out of his back.

 _"Whoever"_ he says, as though he wouldn't know even without any evidence that it was Tris who did it.

Tris, who had to have found him bleeding out in the forest.

Tris, who had to have followed a trail of dead bodies, no doubt scared of what she'd find at the end of it.

And Tris, who didn't have any way to heal him or medical training.

(To his knowledge, that is.)

Reginald wants to kiss her deeply right now. He settles for doing so lightly, pressing his lips against her slightly open, lax-jawed mouth.

It speaks volumes to him how exhausted she is that she barely stirs when he does, and still doesn't awaken when he climbs out of bed or when he opens the door to step outside and relieve himself. She continues sleeping even when he gently lifts her from the floor and lays her on his bed, pulls off her boots and undoes her corset, and pulls the blanket over her, when he re-enters. After a moment, she seems to slip deeper into her dreams.

He finds a bowl of cold stew on his desk, covered by a cloth, and jerky. Reginald eats both slowly and drinks water from his waterskin.

While he's eating, the raven swoops down his chimney again, landing on his shoulder. He pulls the small message from around its leg and it flies back out.

It's a response from one of his friends in low places, about a job for Tris.

Since she had mentioned bounty hunting, he's asked around; if he saves her time having to go look for them, he reasons, the longer she can stay before going again, or the more she can get done- whichever she chooses.

He sets the rolled up paper to the side and continues eating.

When he's had his fill, he crawls back into bed with Tris, holding her close. He kisses her again, unable to help himself. It feels... _good._ It feels right, like this is where she belongs. (It is.) It's where  _he_ belongs.

Sleep embraces him again almost as soon as he closes his eyes.

The third time he wakes up after what happened, it looks to be early morning, with the sun just beginning to rise; dawn. Tris is awake, watching him and carding her fingers through his hair with a soft expressioned.

Reginald doesn't even let her finish whispering  _"good morning,"_ before he leans in, kissing her hard. Tris makes a sound of surprise, and then surrenders to him completely. She kisses him back eagerly, clutching at his hair the same time he cups the back of her head, burying his fingertips into her disheveled braid. He can't discern whether she moans or whines when he pulls her even closer and deepens the kiss, but it's a noise and it spurs him on. He guides her onto her back, trapping her; not that she seems to mind. Her other hand clutches at his shoulder, holding him close. 

They're both breathing hard when he pulls away.

"Good morning, love." he says, grinning as he observes her.

She looks messy, in a word. Her braid is splayed and coiled around her head and horns, long strands of hair falling out of it, her mouth is still parted slightly, lips looking ever so swollen from being bitten and used so roughly. The common she's wearing is in disarray as well, completely unaligned with the rest of her chest. The collar is yanked down, exposing her neck and collar bones, and the holes where sleeves would have been are twisted at an odd, probably uncomfortable angle, and revealing part of her breast on the one side.

Breathless still, she says, "Good morning, darling. That was...a very exuberant greeting." Tris tries to lean up, wrapping her tail around his ankle, but he keeps his hold of her hair, effectively keeping her there. She huffs, annoyed and frustrated.

"Not now, love, our daughter's in the room." he chastises her.

Reginald looks over his shoulder to check on her. She seems to be still asleep, but will wake up soon.

While he does, he can feel Tris shifting beneath him. There's a subtle splay to her legs now, inviting him between them. In contrast to before, he feels more amusement at how easily  _bothered_ she is than lust to accept what she's offering.

"That's not fair." she complains. When he looks back to her, she's pouting somewhat at him. Her hands are limp on either side of her coyly tilted head.

He leans in close, close enough their lips brush ever so slightly. "What's  _not fair_ is that nightgown you've been wearing as of late. It's fun to see, but  _such_ a  _tease._ " He nips at her bottom lip. She responds with a whimper.

It's really,  _really_ a good thing she's not wearing it right now.

"That's...that's not intentional, Rory."

But her tail squeezing around his ankle is, he's sure.

Reginald has enough sense to know he should probably get up before his arousal tries to take the reins. He climbs off the bed, chuckling at her expense; that pouty, needy expression she makes at him as he goes, but she doesn't try to keep him there.

With the added distance, her tail's not able to keep its hold on him, causing it to reluctantly unwind from his leg. Tris takes a few deep, steadying breaths, and then sits up and adjusts her clothes, face reddened.

It's cute, how abashed she seems.

(Like a child caught sneaking sweets at night.)

"How are you feeling?" she asks.

"I feel fine, actually." he answers. He doesn't feel sore anymore, but his mind may be too preoccupied to register any lingering pain. "Thank you, Tris."

"Is that what the kiss was for?" she asks in a quiet, but happy voice.

"Yes." He half climbs back onto the bed, resting his weight on one knee, and cups her face. She leans into his touch, gaze soft. "Thank you."

Reginald kisses her again, keeping it chaste this time. He doesn't trust himself if it deepens; it would be easy to, her mouth is pliant against his. But for all her eagerness, Tris doesn't try to deepen the kiss either. She just hums happily and lets her tail swish back and forth over his bedding.

When they part, moments later, she says, "I'm just glad you're okay... I was scared."

 _Again_ goes unsaid.

This is the second near death experience he's had within a month and to the guards, and this time she  _was_ here. Reginald can only imagine how different things would have turned out if she had gone sooner to return to work, since this seems to have been planned- they attacked not long after she and Evry went to the beach without him. They waited until he was alone and went after him, ignoring Tris... at least for the time. Maybe if he hadn't killed them all- did he kill the sixth one? He doesn't recall doing so, actually- they would have gone after her and Evry next.

He could have been still injured from the dogs, for example, and Evry could have been with him in the crossfire. The two of them would most likely be dead by now, in that scenario, and Tris likely wouldn't know until she came back to visit them, or retire.

At that thought, Reginald wraps his arms around her.

Tris has been conscious for longer than he after the ambush, which means she's had more time to consider all the ways it could have been worse. He knows that possibility has occurred to her.

She doesn't return the hug, but she tucks herself against his chest nuzzling against his neck where she can no doubt feel the beating of his heart.

He almost doesn't hear her whispered, "Will you promise me now?"

She's earned at least that. He kisses the top of her head, nodding. "I will."

They stay like that in silence.

"It's not safe here." Reginald says after a while. "Evry and I are going to have to leave much sooner."

She nods. "I should be getting back to the capital soon to find another job, and a crew."

He nods as well, kissing the top of her head. "Speaking of," he pulls away, walking to his desk. She watches him curiously, swinging her legs off the bed. "A friend sent me this. It's about a bounty in Ravenloft." Reginald holds up the paper.

"I see. I'll head there once I know you and Evry are okay in Avalon."

They spend some time before Evry wakes up discussing the details of the bounty. Apparently, Ravenloft is struggling with a plague and needs the spreaders of hunted down and killed. It's a bit too risky, in terms of health, for his liking, but he's been reassured her job will take her away from the general populace, greatly reducing her chances of becoming sick at all. The Baron, Lord Slarin Bludfire, has arranged for that for all who answer his bounty.

When Evry wakes up, the three of them eat a breakfast of jerky, leftover venison stew, and some meager bread. Their daughter all but throws herself at him, glad to see him awake on his own, and he learns it's been a couple days since he was attacked.

Tris confesses in a low tone, when he glances at her and then his bed, that she didn't sleep until after nightfall last night. 

Reginald pieces the timeline together with ease after that. He has half a mind to send her back to bed, she still seems drowsy, yawning every so often, but he doesn't. She's a big girl who can put herself to bed if she's going to be too tired if she doesn't, and that is her decision.

(He would also be a hypocrite, but his own hypocrisy has never bothered him before, why should it now?)

They start getting packed that afternoon. 

There's not much to grab besides their clothes and bedding, just his wood carving tools and Evry's toys. Within that afternoon, they're ready to leave.

Reginald reaches out to his friends, finds a ship coming into a port in a couple days that is willing to ferry a family of three to the capital that way, and then he reaches out to the druids to cover their tracks; asks them to please reclaim the cabin for nature, that way it can be like they were never there.

They leave a couple days after.

He puts on an eyepatch to hid the star in his left eye, shaves himself, and pulls on a hood. They manage to puff Evry's hair up enough to cover her horns, and arrange her bangs in such a way they cover her left eye as well. There's no hiding the purple color of their eyes, or her lack of iris and sclera, so Tris in her own human disguise will be doing most of the talking and fronting. She drops the disguise discreetly at the docks, apparently not caring to be bothered to keep it the whole two months they'll be on the ship, or to have the  _"yes, I boarded the boat legally but under disguise"_ conversation with any of the crew.

She slips away for only a moment to do so out of sight, then rejoins them.

The captain doesn't give them any problems regarding her infernal heritage, and Reginald can feel one knot of tension loosen. But only the one.

There are still several more.

But at least he does not seem to have to worry over the captain causing them trouble because his lover- he'll let himself call Tris that again, now- and child are tieflings. He knows Tris has faced a lot of hardships in her life, especially from her own family, because of it, and he knows that's why she more frequently hides herself so only those that inspect her closely or can otherwise see through the illusion know what she is.

They have two rooms to themselves, across the hall from one another.

Reginald knows  _how_ he wants to arrange themselves, but his protective nature balks at it as much as Tris seems to. He wants her in his bed, in his arms, and to be able to sleep with her however he likes without worrying about their daughter. He also wants the room with the window, because he can get surprisingly nauseous at sea.

The protective part of him says to have Evry sleep with either he or Tris, or both if they can all manage to squeeze onto one bed.

Tris seems torn, ultimately asking Evry what she would like; if she'd like to sleep with him or her.

Evry,  _thank the gods,_ replies she wants to sleep with her stuffed toy.

Later, when they're getting settled, Tris asks if it's really alright to let her sleep in the other room by herself; he understands how paranoid and nervous she is at this concept, and doesn't hold the coddling nature against her.

"I raised her to be independent," he replies, shrugging. "Just in case something happened to me and she was left with no one."

Tris looks guilty (as she should) and her voice takes a sad tone, replacing the uncertainty from before. "I'm glad. I'm sorry to have made that a necessary precaution, but glad you did." While he nods, accepting that response for what it is, she stares in the direction of Evry's room, looking a bit troubled.

He has a feeling what may be bothering her and adds, "I also taught her to be empathetic only to those who would do us no harm. Anyone that would hurt us are merely animals."

"That's...wonderful," she sighs. "But it explains why she was so blasé about the bodies." 

Neither of them wanted their daughter to ever have need of such a mentality, but if Reginald is to be frank, she was going to have to learn it sooner or later no matter what. All tieflings must, and he can't be there to protect her  _forever,_ nor can her mother, as much as they wish they could be. At some point, she's going to step as fully into independence as she can, and she's going to take off with it. The best he can do is teach her as much as he can so that she knows how to survive as many situations as possible.

"That's one word for it." he says. "When we get to our new home, hopefully the only things she'll need to help clean will be her toys."

Tris chuckles a little. "Yes, that would be nice." She turns to face him properly as he withdraws a journal from his pack and sits down to write. It's a habit he picked up after he left, something to vent his stress, frustration, hurt, and  _boredom_ to and to not lose his mind. Over the years, he's also used it as a sounding board for his plans and ideas.

There's an entire section he's written backwards, not wanting Evry to be able to read it if she ever got a hold of it; she's as nosy and curious as her mother, so he knows she'd try.

His feelings over Tris leaving and observations about it are among the things he's intentionally miswritten, she doesn't need to know his thoughts about that. The rest is mostly sexual, fantasies he's had, now including one of Tris and that  _nightgown_ she's been wearing, added within the last couple of days, and ideas for things to try during sex. They're things he considers idly to pass the time, or when he's especially in the mood but not yet desparate enough to accept the offers of any of the dryads. He always regrets it afterwards.

Things definitely not meant or suitable for a five year old.

What she can read in the journal is his day-to-day journaling and the ideas he has for the future. Those are much more child friendly.

"I'm going to go check on how she's settling in, and take the rest of my belongings over." Tris says after watching him for a minute. 

They agreed the other room would be Tris's, and Evry could sleep over there by herself, or she could sleep with one of them if she wanted. Privately, Reginald hopes Evry will continue to kick her mother out of her room. The last few nights of having Tris sleeping in bed with him have made him reluctant to give her up, especially now that he has the opportunity to  _sleep with_ her.

Reginald nods, and she leaves the room.

He keeps writing, detailing that the druids accepted his offer and helped the wilds reclaim the cabin for itself and the agreement he and Tris reached regarding their room situation aboard the ship. She's still not back by the time he's finished that, though it took him very little time and she's probably started to play toys with Evry to help calm her nerves, so he writes, again, his plan for the capital.

Reginald has no desire to interact with Imperials, but his options to "escape" their jurisdiction, not including going into Runic Empire waters (he'll pass on being enslaved and sacrificed) are Dragon's Claw, which is still part of the Imperial's, but under their own monarch's control. It's an armistice, really.

The other option is the wood elves' isle in New Avalon.

He would consider Dragon's Claw, but that's where Tris's mother abandoned her to thieves' guild, and _well._ They are both trying to leave their criminal lives (though not necessarily ties) behind them, never mind how much the residents typically hate non-dragonborn and non-dragonkin.

The wood elves will be a bit tricky, but as long as he respects them and their wilds, and refuses to sleep with their dryads, it should be fine.

They dislike everybody save for children- they love children- equally, but they aren't likely to be too violent if he keeps himself in line. Imperial soldiers don't go there often on account of a mutual understanding that the cost of life for subjugating them and their isle would be too high, and they prefer the amount of cooperation they have currently over the alternative. Reginald is sure he can work out an agreement.

Once he finishes putting his thoughts down, he closes the journal and starts to undress. He riffles around his bag, withdrawing a ring. Not the one Tris gave him, but, well...

It has a very important function.

And that function is  _preventing_ him from impregnating anyone.

Tris returns as he's just finished pulling on his pajama pants and slips the ring on his right middle finger. He has some time, not an hour like the ring of sending, before it takes effect.

She has a full view of the scars on his back. Her fingertips lightly trace the old whip scars he has, something he's never told her the origins of, momentarily.

"They say scars never heal," he comments.

Tris has plenty herself.

She told him in general terms, most of them are from beatings she suffered from one of the guild's enforcers who particularly hated her on account of not having any draconic ancestry.  _Thrash Gazziasssh._ A fitting name, and one she's accidentally played on before despite herself.

"They just fade," she whispers, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. She continues to the bed where she's laid out her nightgown. "Did you want to talk about them?" she offers as she begins to undress, starting with her corset.

He doesn't fully turn yet to face her. "Did I ever tell you about my mother?"

"Not much, no. You have not talked much of any of your family."

 _That's right,_ he thinks.  _I didn't open up to you in this way when you did, all those years ago._  

"My mother was a loving lady. A kind woman who could have made the darkest of nights become light." Reginald can only imagine what she would say, if she could see him now and all the lives he's ruined. "She wasn't like other nobles who cared for politics and the like; she cooked and cared for us as her children."

While he's speaking, Tris finishes undressing down to her underwear, and slips her gown on. He can tell she is listening by the way her eyes are fixed on him and her head is tilted. She crawls into bed, facing him attentively. 

Reginald lies down beside her on his back.

"When she heard of my father's shame, she got my siblings and I packed and tried to leave with us." Tris lays down, resting her head somewhat awkwardly- her horns are the cause of the odd angle- beside his. She rests her hand on his chest, rubbing soothing circles over his bare skin with her thumb. "My father came home from the ship a few days earlier than we anticipated and was enraged when he saw we were leaving."

It must be obvious to her, how upsetting a topic this is. His voice is starting to falter, he knows; he can feel his throat tighten. She curls her tail around his ankle as she scoots closer, trying to offer him comfort.

"He tied us all up and whipped us..." Tris shifts so that her arm is wrapped around him and presses her lips against his shoulder. "My mother and my poor, poor little sister, Isabela, didn't survive."

There's no denying, at that point, how tight his heart feels, and the way he starts to shake as tears begin to slide down his face. Tris leans up, kissing the ones closest to her and using her hand, the one that was holding him, to swipe her thumb at the rest. Reginald's grateful, and allows himself a moment to recompose himself while she whispers against his skin,  _"That's awful. I'm sorry."_ and _"_ _I've got you, Rory."_  

When he can talk again without choking on his words, he continues, "It took his most loyal men betraying him and tying him up to end it. The Imperials sent him to Isle of Hades, a hellish island that drives men to madness and turns them into monsters."

Still leaning over him, and shifting a bit to make it more comfortable for the both of them, Tris says, "It sounds like a place he belongs, then."

 _Ahhh,_ he sighs to himself, endeared.  _Good ol' vindictive Tris. You'd probably go kill him yourself if he'd gotten anything less._

"My brother hated me because I thought fighting the Marauders was a senseless bloody waste of time. All he cared about was his personal vengeance against them." Tris nods, playing with his hair now that there are few tears to wipe away. Her tail squeezes his ankle. Reginald presumes from her lack of questioning his use of past-tense, she's heard already. William's- allegedly- dead now, killed in an attack on the fort he'd been stationed. That leaves just he and Marjorie, and his daughter, as the last Tidemasters.

What he's about to say is manipulative and he knows it, but it's also the truth.

He just...he  _needs_ her to come back.

"I've lived a life that wasn't worth living until you and Everest were in it. I've  _tried_ to move on these last two years to no avail. I need you in my life," and he lets himself say her  _real_ name, the one she confessed after Everest had been born, whispered into his ear during the late hours of night like a caress, "Tenefire."

Reginald knows she hasn't lived a life worth living either, but he needs to hear her say  _anything_ that will tell him he's changed that. That he and their daughter changed that for her the way they did for him.

She goes very still against his body for a moment.

It's her name, he thinks. She wasn't expecting him to say it- she once asked him to say it only when he was certain no one else to hear and when he truly _means_ it, so it's not as though it's a habit he's resurrecting.

She's just shocked.

Then, she presses a kiss to his lips, which he returns. "I'm here now, Reginald."

"I know, love."

"And I'm not going to leave the way I did before," she promises. "I need you too. You and Evry both."

"I know," he repeats. "...I have faith in you again."

Reginald wants to, but he doesn't completely. He's starting to, though.

Tris grins, kissing him again. "No more near-death encounters, you hear me?"

Reginald shifts, propping himself up and on his side so the two of them are chest to chest, resting his other hand on her waist. "I can't promise you that, but I can promise you I'll be smart enough to know about them ahead of time."

He presses his next kiss against her neck.

She hums thoughtfully as she tilts her head, exposing the flesh he's after for his convenience. "I suppose that will have to suffice..."

He nips at her offered neck gently and pulls her closer.

They're  _finally_ alone.

They've properly reconciled and reached an agreement in their relationship.

That means Reginald can have his way with her at last, no need to deny himself- and her, it's  _hardly_ like he's been the only one aroused the last two weeks- any longer. Not when he's this close to desperate.

"You're in an  _interesting_ mood, darling." she teases, scratching his scalp lightly.

"I've only been with some dryads these last two years." he murmurs, continuing to kiss her neck. She's enjoying it, he can tell from her breathy sighs. "And they scare me when they get in a... _happy_ mood. Especially during pollinating season." He trails the hand on her waist down, slipping it under her gown. He rubs appreciatively at her skin and squeezes at her ass.

Tris laughs, letting her hand trail down from his hair to the back of his neck. "Oh my. That's...something."

"It is indeed."

This time, Reginald nips at her neck harder. The sigh she gives is louder and he can feel her leg hike against his.

He's not sure if he's been pushing her onto her back, or if she's just been pulling him after her as she leans back, but when he pulls away, they've shifted and wiggled until she's beneath him, completely covered by his body, arms looped around his neck to pull herself up to kiss him. Reginald pulls away from her soft mouth and welcoming arms just long enough to finally, fully discard her undergarment and start pushing her dress up farther.

Tris undoes her braid quickly while he does that, and poses with her hands crossed over themselves above her head as soon as her hair is splayed around her, arms slightly bent in a way that looks natural. She turns her head to the side, peering at him coyly as she wiggles in anticipation. Her tail curves around her,  _swishing_ over the mattress and every few intervals,  _thumping_ against it excitedly.

He leans over her once more, kissing her hard and hungry. His right hand grabs at her crossed wrists, pinning them in place. His other hand slips down, cupping her breast through the silky fabric covering it. She arches slightly, pressing into the touch.

"What's your safeword tonight?" he asks her.

He kisses at her jawline while she breathes out, "Scarlet."

"An interesting safeword," he notes, kissing her again and pulling at her bottom lip with his teeth.

 _"Mmhmm,"_ she hums, kissing him back eagerly and squirming beneath him.

Once they're both thoroughly spent and feeling gratuitously used, Reginald collapses beside her onto his back.

Without hesitation, Tris rolls onto her side facing him.

In return, he wraps his arm around her and tucks her closer, kissing the top of her head.

For several minutes, they simply lay there, breathing heavily and calming themselves. Reginald can feel her heart's pounding nearly as strongly as he can feel his own. Slowly, it seems, the racing stops.

"You've gotten less bratty." he observes, grinning softly.

The last time, well, she couldn't stop herself from mouthing off and being a... _bad_ girl. Being disciplined had been part of the pleasure, for her. She loved the rough treatment, the stinging on her skin after being smacked, her hair being pulled, and bruises left on her thighs from being held so hard.

He's not complaining, he likes _this_ too; it's just interesting to note.

...there  _are_ bruises on her thighs and hips, from his fingertips.

"Only for you." she replies with a content sigh. Her tail drapes over his legs as she snuggles closer, gazing up at him intently. "I've missed you so much."

He brings his other hand up caress her cheek. "I've missed you too."

Tris closes her eyes, seeming to drift off with the touch.

Just a minute later, at most, she stirrs, sitting up and swinging her legs off the side of their- _their_ \- bed. "I am going to check on Evry and wash."

Reginald privately mourns the feeling of her naked body pressed against his, the feeling of her soft skin and especially her supple breasts. He misses her tail, happily wound around his leg, anchoring them together. Her hair, caressing and tickling him each time she moves her head.

He watches her with heavy eyelids as she gets up, looking about the room. She bends down, picking up her gown and undergarment.

She murmurs an incantation before putting the latter on.

Then, she picks up his trousers and quickly folds them, setting them on the desk neatly. "I'll be back quickly."

Reginald nods.

While she's gone, he thinks.

By the time she gets back a little while later, he makes up his mind.

Tris strips of her gown when she returns, and crawls under the covers with him to lie close; he's glad to feel her soft, smooth skin against his again. Her tail wraps around his ankle, with help from him in the form of lifting it from the mattress, and squeezes. He assumes she does so out of contentedness.

Before he can slip into sleep, which he knows will be especially easy with her warmth pressed against him without barrier, the words on his tongue but not yet spoken, she speaks up. "Thank you. For telling me about your family."

"Thank you for coming back." 

He kisses the top of her head, and she kisses him on his shoulder.

"I do have a question for you, after your remaining bounties." Reginald closes his eyes. Should he ask now? Or should he wait?

He really, genuinely wants to know.

With the end of her tail being around his ankle, he can easily feel it twitch.

"Is it a question I can answer now?" she asks.

"Maybe."

Her tail loosens. The twitch seems stronger.

"Well, now you have me too curious to sleep."

 _Like a cat._ he thinks, following by the idiom,  _curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back._ Reginald stares at the ceiling, contemplating.

The longer he goes without answering, the more her tail unwinds until it is thumping against the mattress.  _Like a cat, again._

He turns his face to meet her gaze. "After you get back...will you marry me?"

Tris goes very still, very rigid beside him. Then, a deep red begins to bloom across her features, from her face to the top of her breasts. Her tail doesn't thump against the bed as it waggles; which looks plenty strange under the blanket, but he is honestly used to weird things at this point in his life and he has been for a while. "You- you really want me to?" she asks, hushed.

Reginald rolls onto his side to face and hold her in his arms better. He responds, equally quiet and serious, but without the insecure hopefulness.

"Of course."

She all but surges up, kissing him  _hard._ Their lips are going to be bruised tomorrow, but he doesn't care. In barely more than a whisper, she says, "Yes."

Reginald grins. He cups her face and kisses her again.


End file.
